


Making Muffins

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Brother Feels, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s some fluff. Cuz I don’t just write sad/horror/violent stuff when I’m down.</p><p>After a rough night, Mikey finds Raph trying to set things right in an uncharacteristic way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Muffins

It wasn’t a bad smell so much as one that elicited an instant mild panic in the youngest of the family.

He looked up from his comic, sniffed the air once with a tip of his head, rolled off the sagging mattress and crept from his room. A glance over his shoulder to the Hulk Hogan alarm clock on his desk told him it was three in the morning. Typically when the lair was at its quietest.

He peered into the gloom of their home. And it was quiet.

“Too quiet,” Mikey said with narrowing eyes.

He slipped into the space and headed directly for the kitchen where the scent of blackened fruit wafted. He paused a moment at the threshold, shocked.

The chairs were shoved to one side. The table loaded with various items. A butter wrapper, oily and opaque, stuck to one side of the back of a chair, the plastic-ware they stored sugar in was on its side, spilling the white crystals in a tiny avalanche, and mounds and valleys of flour scattered over the expanse of the table; long lines of it furrowed as if someone had scraped it off with fingers to salvage or in an attempt to clean. There were cupcake wrappers strewn everywhere, crumpled and cast aside like so many paper tumbleweeds.

His brother straightened from where he leaned, peering into the oven; oven mitts tucked over both hands.

“Raph?”

His brother turned, shocked expression smoothing into a deep frown of annoyance. His eyes shot to the clock above the sink then back to Michelangelo.

“The hell you doin’ up?”

Mikey snapped his gaping mouth shut. He folded his arms. “I thought I smelled something,” he started to say,  _‘burning’_ but changed course at Raphael’s slight stance shift; the twinge of wary apprehension, “good.”

The anxiety melted and was replaced with something like a smug satisfaction; marred only marginally by the swelling of his blackened eye, “That’s right you did.” He turned his shell back to peer once again at the interior of the oven.

Mikey took this chance to step up to the table. He pulled out a chair and soundlessly dropped into it. With one arm, he gently bull-dozed some of the items from in front of him to make a space to rest his elbows.

Raphael turned, “Almost done.”

“So,” Mikey started, “got bit by the baking bug?”

Raph huffed. He shrugged but dropped the motion half-way. “Was bored.”

He pulled the mitt from his hands to reveal the matching stained bandages. As if feeling Mikey’s gaze lock on them, he hesitated, but having removed the mitts, it was too late. 

His gaze flitted from Mikey back to his injured hands. He clenched his jaw; threw the mitts to the counter and causally brought both hands behind him as he leaned back. Hiding the swollen knuckles, the crimson stains now rust-colored and stiff along the wraps, from his younger brother’s view.

Mikey’s heart ran a jumbled sprint, blocked by the cage of his ribs and plastron. He worked his tongue against the top of his mouth; keeping his face neutral and hopefully, uninterested. He felt the back of his neck heat with irritation and his stomach knot with sympathy.

“That was, uh, pretty crazy. Earlier, huh?” Mikey smiled and it was crooked, a bad attempt at nonchalance. He went on, “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about it.”

Raph’s red-rimmed eyes shot up, narrowed slightly. His body went rigid.

Mikey snagged the corner of the near-empty flour bag. He bent his knuckle, sliding it closer to him so he could pick at the paper with his fingernail. He didn’t meet his brother’s suspicious glare.

It wasn’t the fight between his older siblings that he referred to, the one which led Raph to storm off, as usual. Though he did want to ask why the hell Raph had decided to push Leonardo’s buttons again. And right after Leo’s disagreement with Splinter over running patrols on the east end where gang activity had spiked.

Splinter hadn’t wanted them to risk it. Raph should’ve been on Leo’s side with this one.

_I guess he just couldn’t bring himself to do that for once in his life._

The crooked smile hung on, not quite reaching his eyes, “That Foot jerk would’ve taken Leo’s head off if you hadn’t gotten between them.”

Raph’s eyes dropped. He looked away. The muscle in his jaw jumped.

“Good thing you were there. Me and Donnie had our hands full.”

Raph bounced off the counter and turned, shaking his head. “Good thing.” His voice filled with spite.

Mikey sucked his lips into his mouth. He leaned back. “Yeah, man.”

Raph’s shoulders pinched and this time, one hand rose up to rub at the bruised flesh. “I was the reason Leo . . . you guys were there.” His head ducked. He swore under his breath.  “I wouldn’t’ve called if there weren’t so damned many of them. Like roaches comin’ outta the bricks.” He shuddered and dropped his arm.

“Still.” Mikey pushed the bag away with a flick of his finger. “I like Leo the height he’s at. Wouldn’t want him to be a head shorter.”

Raph said nothing. Kept his shell to him.

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Broken by the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Mikey felt like going back to bed. Why was he even trying? 

He’d given his brother the space he needed earlier. When he was too busy punishing himself in the dojo to talk to anyone about what happened. How he managed to get cornered. How close Leo had come to buying it.

Raph beating himself up because he screwed up was nothing new; hard as it was to deal with. But this, this Betty Crocker act was just . . . weird.

The slightly burning smell grew stronger.

“You maybe wanna check those,” Mikey said, “cup-cakes?”

“They’re muffins.”

“Oh. I think they’re done.”

“The timer didn’t go off yet.”

“Dude. They’re done. Trust me.”

Raph gave him a sidelong glance then gripped the mitts sideways in both hands. He opened the oven door; pulled out two cupcake tins filled with odd-shaped muffins. The tops sunk in and the sides hung over the edges of the individual wells. Raph tapped them on the table and dumped them out on top of the mess of flour. They clunked one by one, toppling over one another.

Mikey’s eyes roamed from the steaming lumps of baked goods to his brother’s hands before he turned away to set the tins into the sink. The hot pans hissed as they struck the cooler, wet interior. Raph remained at the sink, hands braced out wide on either side of him. Head down.

“These look . . . great. What are they,” Mikey asked as he carefully knocked one upright with the tip of one finger, “blueberry? Orange?” He sucked on his slightly burned fingertip.

To the sink, Raph mumbled, “Lemon.”

Mikey’s brows raised, though he wasn’t surprised. Not really.

“Huh. Leo’s favorite.”

He dropped his hand. Stared at the tumbled muffins in front of him. Some of them were blackened on the bottoms. Some sagged in the middle. He carefully picked one up and bounced it between his palms before cracking it open and blowing on the steaming insides.

He stuffed it into his mouth as Raph turned his head, watching from the corner of his injured eye.

Mikey winced at the heat, chewed thoughtfully, then stopped. He looked at Raph, brightening. With his mouth full he said, “Hey bro, these are good. Like really.”

Raph slowly turned to face him. “They ain’t too burnt or like rocks or nothin’?”

Mikey shook his head. “Nope.” He swallowed, then popped the other half into his mouth. Between chewing, he added, “Leo’s gonna love these.”

Raph’s ghost of a smile was broken, and it fled as quickly as it arrived. He huffed. “Yeah. Well. I guess I should clean this up.”

Mikey stood up. Hands raised. “I got this.”

“Yeah?”

Mikey nodded. “Yeah, man. Go get a little sleep before Leo hears we’re up and decides to take advantage by having us do laps around the dojo.” 

He righted the container of sugar; gathering up the spilled crystals with a sweep of one hand, brushing them into his palm pressed flush against the edge of the table.

Raph glanced around; his gaze pausing at his battered hands, moving them slightly behind him as he stepped back. “A’right.” 

He moved to leave, then stopped, “Thanks, Mikey.”

“Hey, any time you feel like makin’ muffins, I’m happy to clean up the mess, bro. Anytime.” He looked up and gave him a grin. An honest one. Hoping that Raph got what he meant.

Raph ducked his head and nodded. With a half-wave, he left the kitchen. 

Mikey popped another muffin into his mouth, chewing fast, telling himself the reason his eyes were tearing up was from the heat.

 

 


End file.
